


Wraith in the Bathroom!

by mific



Category: Stargate Atlantis, What We Do in the Shadows (2014)
Genre: Community: intoabar, Crack, Crossover, Fanfiction, Gen, Humor, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 13:19:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14695017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mific/pseuds/mific
Summary: Teyla frowned. "I had thought vampires were mythological creatures on Earth?"





	Wraith in the Bathroom!

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2018 'Into a Bar' challenge. My prompt was: John Sheppard goes into a bar and meets: Petyr! 
> 
> If you don't know "What We Do in the Shadows" it's a mockumentary by Taika Waititi about four vampire flatmates (aka roommates) living in a run-down old house in Wellington.

John skidded back into the main room of the pub from the rear hallway, pale and sweaty, heart hammering in his chest. Ronon was leaning on the bar so John grabbed his glass of whisky and downed it in one gulp. Ronon frowned at him.

"Gimme your gun," John demanded. Ronon's blaster was made of alien plastic and didn't trigger airport security so John knew he'd have it on him. The knives always had to be packed in a suitcase, but Ronon would've stashed them back around himself, and in his hair, by now.

"No," Ronon said. Then, "Why?"

"There's a goddamn bald Wraith in the bathroom!" John whispered urgently, peering about to locate Teyla and Rodney. He relaxed slightly on finding them safe, chatting to a guy in sprayed-on black pants and an antique military jacket open to expose his chest. The dude with him had long black hair, a ridiculous handlebar mustache and and a flounced white shirt out of which poked a lot of chest hair. Must be off to a fancy dress party.

John turned back to Ronon, checked the barman wasn't too close, and leaned in. "It hissed at me. The teeth were a nightmare, all snaggly. It looked really old. Might be one of those super-Wraith, hiding in the sewers here, or something."

Ronon gave John a look. "Thought there weren't any Wraith on your planet?"

John signaled 'down' to get Ronon to lower his voice. "I dunno," he whispered. "Maybe it beamed down in the battle when we first got here." He eyed Ronon so as to figure out where he was carrying the blaster. He could snatch it if he was quick, and get beaten up later. This was an emergency.

Ronon gave him a knowing look. "Quit it. I'm not letting you have the gun." He peered at John and tilted his chin at the empty whisky glass. "Sure you haven't had too many of these?"

"You gotta come out back with me," John insisted, pulling at his arm. "We can't let anyone go into the can, not with that thing lurking there."

"Yeah, okay," Ronon said, plainly curious, if disbelieving.

They were in Wellington, New Zealand. Negotiations to get the city back to Pegasus were drawing to a close so they were using their last few weeks on a whirlwind world trip, taking Teyla and Ronon to as many tourist high-spots as possible.

Ronon had opted for a Lord of the Rings tour, and Teyla had insisted they start in Wellington, having read about the national museum, Te Papa. They'd done that today and worked up both a thirst and an appetite with all the walking, so they were taking in a classic Kiwi pub before getting a meal. Opinions were divided between a steak house, Vietnamese, or fish and chips.

The pub had been quiet at first but had gotten busy as soon as darkness fell outside. John figured they'd better kill the Wraith pronto before some poor bastard looking to drain his bladder got drained himself.

"It's in the men's room," he said, leading the way and pining for his thigh holster and the heft of his P-90. The SGC didn't let John carry when they were back on Earth, which was fucking ridiculous, what with the Trust and _hello_ , random _Wraith_.

They were too late. There was already a guy in the men's room, another of the fancy dress dudes in a frock-coat, cravat and fitted cream pants. He looked like he might be Maori but he was way too pale, unnaturally pale. John figured that might be just the crappy lighting but he was afraid the guy'd been partially life-sucked. He looked again, frowned, and reconsidered—he seemed more old-fashioned than prematurely old. John glanced at his chest, but the embroidered vest and ruffled shirt weren't torn and there was no blood from a monster's feeding hand.

There was also no sign of the Wraith, but the furthest toilet stall door was closed. The guy in the cravat frowned at them and backed towards it.

"Wait, there's a Wraith in there!" John said urgently.

Cravat-dude rolled his eyes. "I think I would know if there were ghosts here," he said, in a European accent rather like Zelenka’s. He looked dramatically up at the ceiling and raised his hands. "Hello, little spirits, is anyone there?" Then he put his hands on his hips and glared at John. "No, see? No ghosties. Anyway, they are all at the Unholy Masquerade ball already. This is just my friend. He locked himself in the toilet."

He turned back to the stall and knocked on the door. "Petyr? This is ridiculous! It's Viago. Open the door and we'll go home. You know we can't take you to the ball, so there's no point sulking." He turned to John and Ronon, shrugged expressively and said in a stage whisper, "What can I say? He doesn't get out much—terrible social skills."

Something inside the stall hissed threateningly and there was a rattling noise. John took a quick step back and Ronon drew his blaster. "You a fucking Wraith worshipper?" he snarled.

Viago gave a little shriek and backed away from the gun, plastering himself against the far wall between the paper towel dispenser and an overflowing trash container. John looked across at Ronon who was glaring at the locked toilet stall. Then he looked again, his attention caught by something in the mirror. Or rather, the absence of something.

John elbowed Ronon hard in the ribs, and Ronon glowered at him briefly. " _What?_ "

He pointed. "The mirror—look."

Ronon looked over, then narrowed his eyes, moving the gun to cover Viago. "How come you're not in the mirror?"

"I'm not Alice through the _looking glass_ ," Viago said snippily.

Ronon's frown deepened and he flashed an interrogative eyebrow at John. "Earth reference," John said.

Viago looked puzzled. "As opposed to what? The underworld?"

John shook his head as though dislodging a fly. Maybe he _had_ had too many drinks; tonight was taking a really weird turn. "Forget it. Look, I was in here earlier and there's a monster in that toilet stall. We can't let it feed on anyone."

Viago wrung his hands, still casting worried glances at Ronon's gun. "He won't, please, he's just my flatmate. I'll take Petyr home as soon as I can get him to come out of there. Besides, he ate a Jehovah's Witness only last week, and he had a chicken this morning. At his age that'll last him months."

"So there _is_ a Wraith in there," Ronon growled.

"No, wait . . ." John was putting it together. The lack of a reflection, the way the bald guy'd looked—not really like a Wraith, what with the baldness and lack of facial tattoos, more like something out of that creepy old movie Rodney liked, what was it called? Oh yeah, _Nosferatu_.

John frowned at the toilet stall. "He's not a Wraith, is he? He's a goddamn _vampire!_ " He looked again at Viago, at his pallor and weird clothes. "Shit, _you're_ one as well."

Ronon scowled. "Vampires? Like in _Twilight_?" Ronon liked those movies for the wolves and the fight scenes. He hated the vampires though, especially the ones that ate people.

Viago rolled his eyes. " _That_ travesty. As though we'd sparkle in sunlight!" He shivered. "Burn to a crisp, more likely."

"You got any werewolf buddies?" Ronon asked, sounding interested.

Viago sniffed. "Such smelly creatures! They urinate on the furniture." Ronon looked disappointed.

Viago rapped on the stall door again, a little frantically. "Petyr, now you really _must_ come out. The nice men won't hurt you as long as you promise not to eat anyone." He looked over at John and Ronon, smiling anxiously around his fangs. "Tell him it's OK," he urged.

"Yeah, no. It's really not." John looked around the bathroom, but there were no garlic or crucifixes anywhere and they had no silver bullets—or was that how you killed werewolves? No wooden stakes lying about either, and Teyla'd left her bantos rods back at the hotel. Shit, Teyla and Rodney!

"Ronon," John said tightly, fighting the urge to run back into the bar and check the others hadn't been dragged off into an alley and fed on. "Teyla and Rodney were out there chatting with this guy's friends. We gotta sort this pronto and make sure they're safe."

"Right. I can take them down." Ronon stepped forward, blaster whining as it powered up.

"No! Guys, guys!" Viago cried, waving his arms. "What are you–" Ronon stunned him and he fell down, unconscious.

"Huh," John said. "Nice one." Man, he _really_ wanted one of those guns.

Ronon took two strides across the room. As he reached the toilet stalls, the furthest door crashed open and the ugly, bald vampire lurched out hissing, clawed hands raised and fangs bared. Ronon stunned him and the bald dude collapsed in a musty heap across Viago.

"I'll cover them," Ronon snarled. "Go!"

John ran, letting out a relieved breath to see Rodney and Teyla still chatting cheerfully to the guys in the ruffled shirts and overly tight pants.

Rodney squinted at him. "That's the second time you've dashed in and out. What's wrong with your bladder? Can't handle real beer?"

"Vampires in the men's room!" John gasped. The two fancy dress guys stiffened and he glared at them. "Yeah, _your_ buddies." He turned back to Rodney and Teyla. "I thought it was a Wraith at first, but it's a nosferatu."

Rodney snorted. "You've definitely had too many lagers. That's from a movie, Sheppard." Beside him, the old-fashioned guys shot each other a look and started edging towards the passage to the bathrooms. John moved to block them.

Teyla frowned. "I do not sense any Wraith nearby."

"Oh," the one with the ludicrous mustache said in a thick Zelenka-ish accent. "You are a ghost buster?" He looked stricken. "Tell me, dear lady, that you are not a vampire hunter."

His friend tugged on his sleeve. "Vladislav, we don't have time." He bowed a little and smiled ingratiatingly. "It has been lovely to meet you, but we must look after our friends now." He made an elbow-tipping gesture. "Too much to drink, I'm afraid. It's always the way, on night of the Unholy Masquerade."

"They're not drunk. Ronon stunned them," John said. "The nosferatu one wouldn't come out of the toilet, and we got worried about you guys." He tried to look team-leadery. "It was a tactical decision."

Teyla sighed. "I am sure it was," she said, in that tone that meant _but not a good one_. "However, Ronon is not supposed to have his gun, not outside the S . . . the United States." She gestured at the vampires. "Deacon and Vladislav have been most helpful in suggesting local sights we should see. They are clearly gentlemen, and I am sure this problem with their friends is just a misunderstanding."

"They're goddam _vampires_ ," John muttered mulishly, but it was the same as any other mission, with him and the guys fucking things up, and Teyla smoothing them over.

"Yeah, yeah," Rodney said, rolling his eyes. "And I'm a genius astrophysicist who lives in the Pegasus Galaxy and flies around in space-ships!" John and Teyla both glared at him, but Deacon and Vladislav chortled away, clearly not believing a word. Rodney smirked smugly. "I've always wanted to say that."

Teyla looked long-suffering. "Come," she said to Deacon and Vladislav. "I am sure we can sort this out. Let us make sure your friends are well."

They followed her meekly, and John had no idea how she _did_ that. It was the same on every world. Elders, warrior-kings, villagers, they all fell under her spell. Maybe it was the Wraith genes?

Out back, Ronon still had his blaster trained on the two unconscious vampires. Deacon ran over to check on them and looked up, glaring. "What have you done?" Beside John, Vladislav hissed and bared his fangs, rising a foot into the air.

Ronon pointed the blaster at him. "Don't try anything." Vladislav visibly reined himself in, fangs receding as he sank to the floor again.

Outside, someone knocked on the bathroom door, which John was leaning against to keep out passers by. "Hey!" yelled a guy. "Open up—I need a piss!"

Vladislav snarled and turned around, intoning in a deep voice. "Go away. You do not need to pee. Your bladder is not full," Footsteps stumbled away, outside.

John's urgent need to piss had vanished too—hey, nifty. "Look, they're just knocked out, they're stunned," he said. "They'll come to in half an hour, maybe less." Vampires were a bit like Wraith, right? With the freakish strength and all. They'd throw off the stun pretty soon.

Deacon lifted Viago effortlessly and propped him against the wall, then rolled ugly old Petyr over.

"Oh my god," Rodney said in small voice, trying to hide behind Ronon. "They really _are_ vampires."

Teyla frowned. "I had thought vampires were mythological creatures on Earth?"

"So had I," Rodney said nervously.

"Yeah, well apparently not," John said. "Just our goddamn luck."

"We mean no harm," Deacon said, pouting. He was kneeling beside Viago, fanning him with a lace-edged handkerchief. "We just want to live our lives like anyone else."

"By killing innocent people and drinking their blood?" Teyla said doubtfully.

Vladislav made a dismissive noise. "We hardly ever do that, and they aren't so innocent, I assure you."

"It's true," Deacon agreed, nodding eagerly. "That pizza delivery guy was totally a mistake."

Vladislav threw up his hands. "How was I supposed to know Nick had ordered pizza! He only throws it up again now he's a vampire!"

"I could set it to kill," Ronon suggested, hefting the blaster.

Teyla raised a hand. "That would not be wise. We are guests in this country and the SGC dislikes bad publicity. We must respect local customs."

Rodney stared at her as though she were insane. "Vampires aren't a local custom in New Zealand!"

"Apparently they are," Teyla replied, unruffled, indicating Vladislav, Deacon and the comatose pile on the floor. "As this situation demonstrates." She turned back to Deacon and Vladislav. "We will help you carry your comrades. Is your residence very far from here?"

"No, it's just around the corner," Deacon said. "We share a flat—we're flatmates. Well, _we_ three share the flat. Petyr lives in the basement."

Teyla looked around. "Is there a fire exit? Rodney, check the hallway." John stepped away from the door and Rodney slipped out, his eyes wide.

John figured he'd better join Teyla in showing leadership, even if he was, as usual, completely outclassed. "C'mon, big guy, we'll take Viago—make it look like he's drunk." He gestured at the scary nosferatu dude—no way he was touching _him_. "You two take . . . Petyr."

Between them, Deacon and Vladislav hauled Petyr up and they all staggered out into the hall, where Rodney had the fire door open.

Luckily it wasn't far to the vampires' flat and Viago was stirring by then, groggy but able to walk for himself. Petyr was still out for the count, so not a super-Wraith after all. Deacon had told them Petyr was 8000 years old; John felt kind of bad he'd let Ronon stun a senior citizen.

At the door, Viago pulled himself together. "Very nice meeting you," he slurred politely, despite having been stunned—perhaps he'd eaten a Canadian recently? John moved protectively to shield Rodney. Viago fluttered his fingers in farewell and helped Deacon drag Petyr inside.

Vladislav beamed at Teyla through his heavy mustache. "Dear lady, it has been a pleasure and an honor," he said, bowing low over her hand. "Your beauty stirs the blood of any man, dead or undead. Are you sure we can't persuade you to come in for a bite to eat?" He grinned roguishly.

"Yeah, no, we'll pass," John said, shuddering.

"Indeed." Teyla smiled politely. "We are late for our own supper so must bid you goodnight."

"Such a pity," crooned Vladislav, leering at her low-cut leather top. "Well, we must arrange our own repast as well."

"No pizza delivery guys," John warned. "Or I'll sic Ronon on you." Ronon growled and put a hand on his blaster.

Vladislav, already pallid, paled further. "No, no, only child molesters and rapists, I promise." He smiled toothily and slid inside, shutting the door behind him.

They walked back towards the city center. "That was most interesting," Teyla said, after a while.

"Didn't get to see any werewolves." Ronon sounded disappointed again.

Rodney yelped. "Oh, don't tell me there are werewolves here as well!"

"It is not the full moon," Teyla pointed out, indicating a crescent moon rising over the harbour. "So they would not be in wolf form."

"We could come back when they are, after seeing where they filmed the throw down with Sauron," Ronon suggested.

"I fear that would disrupt our schedule," Teyla said. "We must be at Uluru in five days."

"And after that it's Hawaii for surfing," John added, perking up. "You're gonna love that, big guy."

"Yeah, I guess," Ronon said, not very mollified. "They got any werewolves there?"

"Um . . ." John had no idea.

"Right now, we must decide where to go for dinner," Teyla said, changing the subject smoothly.

"No steaks," Rodney said. "I'm traumatized. I might not be able to sink my teeth into anything bloody ever again."

"Fish and chips it is, then," John agreed. He looked at Rodney, who was opening his mouth. "Yeah, yeah, no lemon wedges, we know."

"Hmph," Rodney said, sounding pleased. Teyla took his arm, and they went to find dinner.

 

~ the end ~

 


End file.
